


sand on the beach

by marginaliana



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, the schmoopiest schmoop that ever schmooped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Somehow when they set down their chairs and the bag of sandwiches and the cooler of white wine, there was a little patch of perfectly golden sand among the mossy pebbles that stretched down to the water line.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	sand on the beach

The eastern coast of Britain had never had quite the same beach ecosystem as places further south, but somehow when they set down their chairs and the bag of sandwiches and the cooler of white wine, there was a little patch of perfectly golden sand among the mossy pebbles that stretched down to the water line.

"No miracles, you agreed," said Aziraphale, but he couldn't make it sound as chiding as it probably should have.

"I can't believe you're doubting the infinite diversity of Her creation," said Crowley, flopping into his chair and digging his feet into the sand. As they had walked down from the car park his feet had gradually shifted from his usual boots into snakeskin flipflops ( _so_ tacky, Aziraphale had thought fondly) and now even those melted away until it was only skin, pale between the black fabric of his jeans and the glow of the sand. The little knobs of his ankles were just visible. 

Aziraphale wanted to kiss them, not because they were particularly aesthetic in and of themselves but because there was a curious vulnerability about them. It made him think of the era in Britain when ankles had been scandalously arousing; he hadn't understood it at the time, and even now his reaction wasn't really about arousal so much as affection, but the idea made a little more sense now. Cover it up, whatever it was, and it became a gift to have it revealed.

"The infinite cheek of one specific creation," Aziraphale said. He nudged the cooler over into the space between their chairs. "Do pour us out a drink."

Crowley grumbled but squirmed around until he could flip open the cooler, uncork the wine, and pour it into the two chilled glasses without having to take his feet out of the sand. He handed one glass over to Aziraphale. Their fingers brushed, and neither of them pulled away until a gull called sharply across the water.

"Thank you, my dear," said Aziraphale. 

Crowley muttered something that probably wasn't 'You're welcome' but which conveyed the sentiment nonetheless.

They sat for a while without speaking, listening to the rhythmic movement of the waves. Aziraphale watched the swooping of the gulls, thinking idly about the way they waited until just the right moment before diving for a fish. It seemed like a romantic way to get what one wanted. But in six thousand years the right moment had never come. It had taken a rogue wave, metaphorically, to bring them to each other – and even now it seemed that neither of them quite knew how to keep them in sync.

Crowley dug his toes into the sand and began scuffing it back and forth. 

"I love you," Aziraphale blurted. Crowley startled, his feet twitching, and sand showered up and over his jeans.

"You what?" he said. There was an echo to the way he said it, a faint reminder of their first meeting in the garden. 

"I love you and I don't mean angelic love although of course I feel that as well but mainly I—"

Crowley shoved the cooler out of the way, miracling their half-full glasses back into it without spilling a drop. Aziraphale barely had time to suck in a breath before Crowley was curling warmly up against him and dipping his head for a kiss.

Kissing Crowley, as an activity, had almost become familiar to Aziraphale, although no less wonderful for that. They'd spent the last two and a half months doing quite a lot of kissing, not to mention all the other things.

Being kissed like this, however… it was something different entirely. Effervescent, glittering with happiness. It was like lights in windows on a breezy autumn evening, like the scent of a book opened for the first time in a hundred years. 

It was like the sand on a beach when the sun had just come out.

"Crowley," he said, breathing it between kisses. 

He got no further; Crowley kissed him hard and fast and then said, "You said no miracles," with a sly little laugh that hid absolutely nothing, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and forgot the sunlight and the sand and the waves and everything that wasn't Crowley.


End file.
